


Regret

by Techrace



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Renegade (mostly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:06:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techrace/pseuds/Techrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard has always done what is necessary to save the galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

_Did what was right. Hope you do the same if necessary._

_If we don't think about the needs of the whole group, people could get hurt, even killed._

_Under your leadership, we can't fail._

_Wanted you to know, I'm willing to do what is necessary._

Shepard woke up. Dealing with little sleep came easily with years of military training, and from travelling from one planet to another. So this weariness, the sensation of the veil of sleep pulling back only reluctantly, this was something new.

Shepard got out of bed, heading to her personal restroom. Her motions were clumsy, not fitting for someone who was as trained, was as experienced as herself, and was enhanced on top of that. She had seen far too many soldiers ruined by what they had seen and what they had done. Until now, that hadn't seemed to affect her. She had always had her one great conviction to sustain her: she did what was necessary. She had always done what nobody else could do, or what nobody else was willing to do. And it had worked. Both in keeping the galaxy and humanity safe, and in keeping herself going. Until now. Now, that the Reapers were upon them.

That was part of this issue, certainly. For years, she had known the threat was out there, but now it was here. She had seen Earth burning, and Palaven burning, and the great fleet of Reapers. There were more than even she had feared, and she had been dismissed as paranoid. It felt like they never fought battles; only the most violent of retreats. Always losing ground. The stress was getting to her, just like it was to everyone else.

Shepard splashed cold water across her face. It helped, somewhat. She rubbed her face dry, and felt the scars on her cheeks. The strange, unnatural ones, through which her enhancements could be seen. She stared at them, in the mirror. She had been told that her scars, and even her eyes, glowed red sometimes. When she was yelling, when she needed to intimidate, when she was fierce. She had never seen it herself, but it was in all the propaganda vids and bootleg VIs, and it seemed like the sort of thing Cerberus would do. It was useful. It was the sort of thing she would do.

Her terminal repeated its beeping. It was the noise that had woken Shepard up. Shepard now saw that Liara was wanting to meet with her.

“I hope I didn't interrupt your sleep,” Liara said when she arrived a minute later.

“Of course not,” said Shepard, the lie coming as easily as they always did. A good thing, she always told herself. Lying was a valuable skill to have. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”

“As eager to get to the point as always.” Liara smiled as she said that. She set a box down on the table. It was some sort of computer, but it had to be the sturdiest-looking one Shepard had ever seen. “The Protheans left clues for us, even as they desperately hoped the Crucible would be their salvation. Between my archaeological background and extensive information network, I am perhaps the best-qualified person to do the same, for our cycle. Nobody could create a time capsule that would last longer or have better translation software. It has records of our technology, history, and the Crucible blueprints. But there is one thing I'm uncertain on, Shepard.”

“I'm a soldier, Liara. I'm probably not much help here.”

“This is the one thing you're most qualified to help with, Shepard. Yourself. What should I record about you?”

Shepard, for one moment, wanted to ask Liara to be honest. To take Shepard, exactly as she was, and keep her in a box, and fling her forward into eternity, that she could live forever with those virtues of honesty and truth. But those were always getting the naïve into trouble. She couldn't sacrifice any chance of survival of future cycles on such things.

“You know how I get portrayed. Ferocious. Powerful. Commanding. The face and fist of humanity. Do something like that.”

“Not a bad message to send. They would need a hero just as much as we do. Even an ancient, alien one.” There was something almost wistful on Liara's face as she said this, and Shepard understood why. Liara, like so many others, saw her as the hero that Liara was recording for the future. Maybe it wasn't even that far off from who she was. She did what was necessary. And people admired her for it. That admiration that caused people to follow her, to obey her, even into their own deaths.

There had been so many dead. So many times she had made the necessary sacrifice. How many more, by the time this war was over – one way or another?

Was it always necessary? Was it really? How could she know?

 

 

_Under your leadership, we can't fail._

_Is the person that I followed to Hell and back still in there, somewhere?_

_You are a great protector, but some things are beyond even you._

_I know how this will end, but I will not back down. I can't._

“I'm sorry, could you say that again?”

“Admiral Hacket is requesting to speak with you, Commander,” repeated Specialist Traynor. Shepard thought she saw concern in those eyes. Or maybe it was just her own feelings reflected back. Shepard couldn't remember zoning out like this before. She was getting worse. But she could worry later; the Admiral was waiting.

“Amazing work, getting both the salarians and the krogan on our side,” Admiral Hacket said. “I still don't know how you managed it. I'm not sure I want to know.”

“I'll spare you the details,” replied Shepard. The fewer people knew that the genophage cure was a fake, the better. It had to have been the right choice. Shepard couldn't just let the krogan run wild again, particularly with a warmonger like Wreav in charge. It had been the right choice, even if the cost was too high. “Permission to speak freely on another matter, Admiral?”

“Go ahead, Shepard.”

“Why me?” That was vague. And maybe childish whining. “There are plenty of other capable commanders, and before long everyone else will have as much experience handling Reapers as I do. So why select me for such crucial missions?”

“I'm sure you've realized the way people look up to you. Not just those serving under you, but all of our people. Some might say you were kept grounded for two years because of your, shall we say, disorderly reputation. But that's what we need. You're a hero to them, Shepard.”

There it was, again. It began on Torfan. She let her squad die, for the mission; she chose to be ruthless. That was how she ran her command, from then on. Time and time again, those below her paid their lives for the mission, on her orders. Not just her men, but even the Council, in Sovereign's attack on the Citadel. And she was lauded a hero, so that more and more looked up to her, and ran willingly to their deaths for her.

“I know you've had some of the roughest missions I've heard of,” the Admiral continued. “I know how many died under your command on Torfan and in that Collector base. But you completed the mission. Even if we're victorious, this war will cost more lives than any other. We need you to keep going, Shepard. We need your abilities to accomplish and to inspire.”

“Of course, Admiral.”

 

 

_Are you here to kill me?_

_It's so much easier to see the world in black and white. Gray, I don't know what to do with gray._

_I beg you, do not do this, please._

_Someone else might have gotten it wrong._

“Commander Shepard, can you hear me?” A voice, quarian.

“Tali? I'm fine, I'm getting up.” This wasn't the sleep grogginess. It was disorientation, a more familiar sensation, from previous incidents in the field.

“Your memory might have suffered,” Admiral Raan said. “Tali, she-”

“Right, back in the Collector base. Yeah, I remember.” Shepard tried not to remember too well her friend's final moments. She refocused on her surroundings, the surface of Rannoch. “What happened? Did we destroy the Reaper?”

“Yes, though a blast from a stray shot knocked you back, and you hit your head. But it seems you are fine,” Raan said. “And your...friend survived, as well.”

Shepard saw Legion standing nearby. The geth seemed preoccupied with its thoughts, but it was hard to tell with geth. “Legion, status report,” Shepard said.

“I am uploading the Reaper upgrades to the rest of the geth, so that they can become free individuals and defend themselves against the Creators in the battle occuring right now in orbit.” There was a silence after Legion's mechanical voice stopped.

Shepard drew her pistol. “You're uploading Reaper code to the rest of the geth? Are you going to wipe out the Quarians?” she demanded.

“We fight in self-defense, Shepard-Commander. For that, do we deserve to die?” Shepard did not fire, but did not put her gun away either. Shepard wanted to save the quarians if possible, of course. But from having spent time with Legion, she knew it wouldn't be moral to consign the geth to destruction, any more than an organic species.

“Commander Shepard, you aren't seriously considering siding with a synthetic race over an organic one, are you?” asked Raan. “Have you forgotten those machines that even now are burning your own homeworld to ash?”

“Shepard-Commander, the geth were enslaved. We have more cause to join you against the Reapers than the Creators do.”

Morals were a crutch, weren't they? Not to be abandoned outright, but not to be relied upon in the place of proper reasoning. That was how Shepard lived, and how Shepard decided. Who would make the better ally against the all-consuming Reapers? The quarians were organics, who required food, could have morale issues, and had to consider a civilian population. The geth merely needed power, had a logical consensus of the stakes, and any unit could be instantly programmed into battle-readiness.

“Admiral Raan, try to get the Quarian fleet to stand down,” Shepard said.

“I...very well, Commander Shepard. I pray that they will listen.”

They did not. The sky turned red as blazing debris rained down upon Rannoch. The three figures spent many minutes staring at the destruction overhead.

“I had the good luck to walk upon the homeworld. I can be thankful for that much,” said Raan, drawing her own pistol. Shepard readied her own in defense, but Raan turned the weapon on herself. Shepard turned back to Legion, to avert her eyes from the quarian's body.

“We thank you,” said Legion.

 

 

_I watched them die. They were processed, rendered down..._

_I don't have what you do. That fire that makes someone willing to follow you into Hell itself._

_It's a hell of a job, isn't it Shepard? Being the good guys?_

_You know it's the right choice._

Shepard woke to the voice of the ghostly child image that called itself the Catalyst. She listened as it described the cycles, the Reapers, the Crucible. And then it described the choices before her: to destroy the Reapers, at the cost of all synthetic life, or to control the Reapers, at the cost of her existence as an individual human being.

Shepard wanted to scream, to shoot at the child thing, to reject the fate of the galaxy being placed on her shoulders once again. It wasn't fair, not to her and not to everyone else who lived and died in this sea of stars. She shouldn't have to bear that burden, and they shouldn't have to live according to her choices.

But she couldn't do that. It would be a choice all of its own, choosing for all of humanity and the asari and the salarians and the krogan and the turians and the geth and all the others to die at the hands of the Reapers, and for the cycle to continue. Shepard could not have this rebellion, even at the end.

To control the Reapers was the right choice, she knew. As insane as the Illusive Man had been at the end, he had not been without a point. Which was to be expected; given how capable he was, he had either chosen his course of action long before being indoctrinated, or his indoctrination had been of the subtle kind that used truths to cloud the lies of freedom. Saren had been like that, for a time. So the Illusive Man may have been right, when he described how much could be learned from the Reapers, how much could be gained if they were controlled. It was the sort of thing Shepard might have agreed with, if it weren't an impossibility, with extinction as the price of failure. Now, it wasn't.

And wouldn't it be right, for her to be in control? She had become loved, and followed, and inspired such loyalty. Those under her command, without fail, grew to admire her, to desire to continue to work with her. She was a hero. For her to control the Reapers was the ultimate expression of this. She could stop the Reapers from being a threat, and through them guide and protect the entirety of the galaxy for eternity. She would forever make the choices for them all.

“Sorry, Legion. Sorry, EDI,” Shepard said, as she turned to the right. Perhaps this was her rebellion, rather than the right choice. The cost was too high. The geth, EDI, and every other synthetic, and maybe even every cybernetic, all dead. And the loss of everything that could be learned from the Reapers. But this was the only way the galaxy could be free: free of the threat of the Reapers, free of Shepard controlling its fate, and the only way Shepard herself could be free. She was done doing the things the rest of the galaxy needed done.

As she hobbled towards the connections that she would shoot, bringing an end to the Reapers, she considered what would result from her actions. The Reapers, at last, would be brought to an end. Between the destruction they had caused, and the damage of the Crucible's blast itself, rebuilding would take years. But they would rebuild. Then someday, organics would create new synthetics. And perhaps, just perhaps, they would be able to find peace and coexistence, and atone for this repeating pattern of destruction, and for the extinction Shepard would cause to end it.

Shepard was almost to her destination, and she knew she should start firing now, since every second wasted was thousands of lives she could have saved. But as she stared into space, watching ships and broken pieces of ships pass by, she felt at peace. This was a moment she had entirely to herself.

She could take some seconds to regret. There were many things to regret, most of them from the past few weeks. But this was a selfish moment; Shepard was done worrying about the galaxy. She had her few selfish regrets. Those in her squad, whom had died under her command. Not asking Liara to leave an honest record of her. That she would always be remembered for the ferocity and determination with which she saved the galaxy, and not for herself.

But she could, in this one moment, say something without having to consider its effect on others. She was under no obligation to say anything grand, or meaningful, or inspiring, or even useful. Whatever her last words were, they would be for her alone.

Shepard took aim at the connections, and glared at the gargantuan body of one of the Reapers as it drifted past the Citadel. “I've had enough of your cyclic exterminations,” she said, and fired.

**Author's Note:**

> My most recent playthrough of the Mass Effect series was trying to do the opposite of what I did the first time: mostly Renegade choices, make it almost a speedrun, and have as many squadmates die as possible.
> 
> Being a generally nice person, it's easier for me to roleplay a Paragon Shepard, to get into that sort of mindset. Renegade, not so much. But as I started ME3, I had a change in perspective, and started to get into the character's head. That's where I got this Shepard who makes the Renegade choices because she feels she must, but the burden of that is getting to her.
> 
> The last line was improvised. I was going to come up with some grand, dramatic final words, but then I realized there was a character reason that such words might not fit. I'm not sure if having it as the ending works, or if it ruins everything.
> 
> Hmmm. Sounds like some people's opinion of the ME3 ending itself.


End file.
